The Life and Times of Clark Kent
by lbreel
Summary: People so often say that Superman is a boring character or they try to make him Batman with superpowers. Yet the one thing everyone forgets is that the story isn't about Superman, it's about Clark Kent. Clark Kent, a farm boy suddenly given the powers of a god. What is his story? Let's find out!


**(AN: Hey everyone, this is my first fanfiction. Please let me know what you think. Since I'm in college, updates will be very infrequent. I hope you enjoy!)**

XxXxX

Chapter 1: Flipping Out

"Dang-nabit!"

Ten year-old Clark Kent looked up from his action figures at his father's shouting. Jonathan Kent was standing behind his tractor, hands on his hips.

It was a beautiful, sunny day on the outskirts of Smallville. Barely a cloud was in the sky and the vast crops of the Kent farm were ready for harvest. Most would be uncomfortable playing outside in the heat of mid-summer, but Clark had always loved soaking up the rays while imagining himself going on adventures with his toys. In his mind's eye he could do anything and beat any villain he faced. In real life he could barely stand up to that jerk, Whitney.

His father had been about to harvest a few acres of crops while they were ripe and ready. Unfortunately, the tractor had other ideas. Clark had told his pa that it had been sounding wrong for a while, but Jonathan was a stubborn man who believed that duct tape and WD-40 could fix most problems.

Now the tractor had died just as he was about to hook up the harvester. He'd been at it for the better part of an hour, but it looked like he was about ready to admit defeat.

Clark heard his father sigh and preemptively got from his hands and knees.

"Clark!" his pa called, a little too loudly in Clark's opinion, "Come help me push this blasted thing to the truck. We best get it fixed quick as we can."

"Sure thing, pa," Clark answered. It wasn't going to be fun pushing something that heavy but maybe his pa would drive him into town and buy him a milkshake from Joe's Diner for the help.

Clark walked over and hopped up to the seat of the tractor, setting the gears to neutral and turning the front wheels toward the garage. Hopping back down, he joined his pa at the back.

Even with the tractor set in neutral, they both had push hard to get it slowly inching forward. They were halfway to the garage when one of the big back tires suddenly sank. It had become lodged in a leftover mud puddle from yesterday's rain.

His pa cursed, then quickly turned to him.

"Don't go repeatin' that, ya hear?" he warned.

Clark nodded. He knew what would happen if his mother heard he'd been cursing.

Clark and his pa spent the next hour trying to get the tractor out of the mud, but to no avail. By the end of it they were both hot, sweaty, and covered in mud. The worst part was that Clark was wearing his brand new shoes. They were the cool, light-up sneakers that made him feel like a superhero. Whitney had called them lame and for babies.

Well sorry, Whitney, not everyone had parents rich enough to buy them a different pair of shoes for every day of the week.

Tired and angry, Clark kicked the stuck tire.

The back end of the wheel suddenly leapt up into the air.

The vehicle stood on its front in a bizarre imitation of a headstand for a tense second.

Then it toppled forward, shaking the ground and coming to rest upside down, wheels in the air like a flipped turtle.

Clark and his father stood staring at the tractor for a long while.

Clark's mind raced. What just happened? Did he do that?

No, that was impossible.

But he'd felt the rubber of the tire give way under his toes. He'd felt his foot push the tractor up.

But he was ten!

But there was no other explanation. There'd been no explosion from the tractor's engine, no hurricane gale had suddenly swept out of the cornfield, no water had burst from the ground.

He, Clark Kent, had just flipped a tractor with one kick.

All he could do was stare at his handiwork and wonder.

How?

The slamming screen door at the back of the house shook them from their shock.

"What in tarnation was…" Martha Kent started, then she spotted the tractor. "What happened?"

"I-I didn't mean to!" Clark blurted, glancing between his ma and pa. "It was an accident. I swear."

Clark saw his parents' eyes meet.

"Clark," his father said slowly, "go inside."

He had never heard his pa use that voice before. That made it scarier than his angry voice.

"B-but," he sputtered, tears filling his eyes. He didn't know what was going on. He didn't even know if he was in trouble. "I-I didn't—"

"I know ya didn't mean to do it, son," his father said. "But please, go inside. I'll join you and ma in a bit."

Clark hesitated, then dashed inside.

Except that didn't go quite as planned.

Clark suddenly found himself hurtling forward uncontrollably and then in a pile of splintered wood on the floor as he crashed through the screen door at blinding speed.

He sat up, dazed and sobbing. His ma's arms were quickly around him. She held him close and checked for splinters. He didn't feel hurt at all, just horribly confused. His world was spinning, flipping just like the tractor.

"Come on, Clark," his mother cooed, scooping him up into her arms. She hadn't done that since he was six. "Let's get you to your room."

By the time she had carried him up to his room on the second story and set him on the floor of his bedroom, he had calmed down a little.

"My action figures," was the first thing he could think to say. He had left them outside and he didn't want them getting trampled.

"I'll go get them," his mother said, stroking his hair. "You stay up here till yer pa and I get things settled."

"Am I in trouble?" he asked, his voice quavering.

"No Clark. You're just…Yer pa is gonna call someone to fix the tractor and then we'll all sit down and talk. I promise, we'll explain everything once we've got the tractor settled. You gonna be alirght till then?"

He nodded. "I'm sorry about the tractor and door."

Clark was not expecting his mother to grin and chuckle. "It's not yer fault, Clark."

She tussled his hair and kissed his forehead before heading down, bringing back his action figures, then leaving again to help his father.

By then he had mostly stopped crying.

It wasn't until she had left the second time that he realized he was still muddy from pushing the tractor. He considered taking a shower, but he didn't want to risk breaking anything else. The best course of action, he figured, was to sit there on the floor and not move till his ma and pa came to get him.

But what if instead a bunch of men in suits came up to haul him off to a super-secret lab in the desert and dissect him? They did that in movies sometimes. Would that happen here?

Surely, one of the neighbors had heard the tractor when it crashed down on its top. One of them might freak out and call the police, who would realize what had happened and call the secret government people, and then they would come. Or worse, maybe someone actually saw him flip the tractor and called the government people straight away.

What if they didn't even bother capturing him and instead blew up his house with a nuclear bomb just to make sure he was dead?

He knew this wasn't normal. Surely, one of those puberty videos they showed at school would have mentioned super strength and super speed being part of the "growing process."

Maybe he was a mutant. Some of the superheroes in cartoons got their powers from a change in their DNA. He wasn't sure what DNA was, but he knew that it could affect people if it was changed.

Or maybe he was a secret government project that his parents had stolen. They'd never made him being adopted a secret, but the details of when and why they adopted him had always been a bit vague.

But if he was like the characters in cartoons and movies, did that mean he was a superhero? Was there some great prophecy or destiny he was supposed to fulfill now?

He had dreamed about something like that happening to him, but now that it was, he realized how unprepared he was.

He didn't have any training. His parents hadn't let him take karate lessons. Was this why?

Did they know he would get these powers and so hadn't wanted him accidentally hurting someone? What even were his powers?

Picking up a Lego, he focused as hard as he could and squeezed.

The plastic brick shattered into a million pieces.

Clark was dumbfounded. That had been as easy as crumpling paper.

Just last week he had been struggling to open a bag of chips. Now, the whole world suddenly seemed as fragile as cardboard.

He could seriously hurt someone. Probably even kill them with a single punch. A strong hug might break bones. A temper tantrum could demolish a building.

Super strength suddenly didn't seem as great as it did in movies.

Within him was a supernova of power he hadn't known existed before, and it was terrifying.

Clark pulled his knees to his chest and sat as still as he could.

If he didn't move, he wouldn't hurt anyone.

XxXxX

Hours later and he still hadn't moved. He was dirty, tired, hungry, scared, and needed to pee. But he wouldn't dare move.

"Clark," his mother cautiously called, opening his door and stepping into the room. "You can come down now."

He shook his head vehemently. "Not moving."

She knelt beside him. "Why not, dear?"

"I'll hurt someone, break something."

"Only if you aren't careful."

"Exactly! I kicked the tractor because I was angry. What happens if I do something like that again? I'm not safe."

"Clark. Look at me."

He did. Her eyes were hard and determined, but not at him. Rather she made it clear she was with him.

"You're a young boy," she said. "And young people, especially boys, make lots of mistakes. You are going to make plenty of mistakes, especially with what's happening to you. The important thing is to learn from those mistakes. But that doesn't mean you should obsess over your mistakes, like you're doin' now."

The tension in Clark's muscles eased a little. His ma had a way of putting things in perspective.

"Tell me," she continued, "what did you do wrong?"

"I suppose," he said, playing the events over in his mind, "I got angry and took it out on the tractor."

"There you go. You took out your anger in a destructive way."

"But I didn't think I could actually do anything to it," he protested.

"True, but now that you know you can what have you learned?"

"That I can cause a lot of harm?"

"Exactly, you're stronger than most people. So you need to find a more responsible outlet for when you get angry."

"How?"

"I don't know, but we'll find out together."

Clark looked into her eyes. She was just as scared as he was, but she was determined not to let that stop her. Come what may, she was going to help him and her washed over him like a gentle breeze on a hot day, giving him strength to keep going a while longer.

He nodded, "Ok."

"Now, let's go get you cleaned up enough for dinner. Yer pa and I will explain things to you while we're eating."

"Ma?"

"Yes, Clark?"

He carefully wrapped his arms around her in a hug. She returned it.

"Thank you."

XxXxX

The table was laden with all his favorite foods. Chicken fried steak, watermelon, and corn on the cob wafted delicious scents into the air. And from the oven he could even detect the delectable vapors of homemade apple pie. They smelled so delicious that Clark very nearly launched himself at the table. Then he remembered that he could actually demolish the table now and restrained himself. But just barely.

There wasn't any talking during the meal, which would have made it awkward for Clark if he wasn't stuffing his face. He hadn't realized just how hungry he was until that first bite of chicken fried steak. Maybe the new superpowers were sapping more energy from him than normal? Some people with super speed in the movies had that right?

After they were done, the Kents all sat at the table, waiting for someone to speak first. Normally they'd immediately clear the table, but nobody really knew what to do.

"How long did you know?" Clark blurted out.

His parents glanced at each other.

"Well," his ma began, "we always knew you weren't…like most people."

"How?"

"The spaceship was a pretty big clue," his father drawled, earning a glare from ma.

"Spaceship!?" Clark repeated, eyes growing as big as his plate.

"How about," his mother interjected commandingly, "we tell you about the night we found you."

"Found me?"

"We certainly didn't get ya from some orphanage," his pa said. "And it was a might more dramatic than a basket on our doorstep."

"It was the strangest day of our lives," ma said, her eyes now gazing into the past. "But also the happiest because it brought us you…"


End file.
